Blindsided
by GraceButYouCanCallMeGracie
Summary: "You feel yourself sink into a painless, freeing sleep. Where nothing hurts. Where everything is forgotten. No problems, no life, no fear. No pain. Well, no. There is pain. There is no Santana. And what is left, is pain in her absence... So only the worst kind of pain."


**Blindsided**

Word count: about 1800 at the moment

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I own Glee, Fox, South Africa; you name it.

A/N: So I decided to start another story during the hiatus of the sequel to "Titanic", that I decided to take so I could give myself a break. I know, it makes total sense. Don't worry, I plan on updating Painting Our Own Picture in the next week or so.

But, because I will be writing two stories at once, I've decided to create a Tumblr, to help everyone keep track, if they'd like :) So feel free to follow me on there. My url is PlainlyGracie dot tumbl r dot com ;)

Anyway, here's the first chapter of Blindsided :)

* * *

_"QUINN!"_

The impact comes before you know what is happening.

You are no longer walking towards Santana, crossing the street to be reunited after a long day, to take your wife on a date. Instead you find yourself ripped off the sidewalk, pain exploding in your left side.

All you did was blink. One minute held happiness, hope; the next - nothing.

Because for a moment, nothing happens.

And then the impact.

The fall.

A roaring erupts in your ears, a loud, endless, unfathomable noise. And then vertigo takes over. Your whole world shifts. Santana is no longer Santana, but the pavement, and then darkness. You are no longer standing, upright. You aren't smiling at Santana any more. You aren't smiling.

For a moment nothing happens.

And then the impact.

The fall.

And the pain.

A searing, tearing pain. An unimaginable feeling, ripping through your body. Your arm, and then your hip, and then everything else. Echoing. Fraying through your skin. Gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, agonizing pain. A pain so deep, so strong; Clouding anything and everything. Shredding you to pieces from the inside out. An aching, stabbing, burning, stinging pain, coursing through your veins; your body screaming, begging for relief.

You can't tell what's happening. You can only register pain. Pain and the loud roaring, echoing in your head and in your heart.

You have no sense of time. Minutes could be going by. Hours, days, years. No sense of reality, of feeling, of control. No sense of a hold on anything connecting you to the real world, to this moment.

To Santana.

And then an agonizing pain rips through your chest; an impossible sting. You feel a scream tear from your throat, but no sound travels to your ears.

And then everything happens at once.

Your eyes involuntarily crack open, your body grasping for a sense of what is happening outside of itself. A bright, blinding light floods your vision, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut, before attempting to reopen them. This time carries the luxury of sound. Noise, filling your ears, filling your mind. Loud, frantic, hectic noise, and yet no image to associate it with. Voices and sirens and motors and metal, and someone, right beside you, telling you it would be alright, telling you that you would be fine. That everything would be okay. Someone you didn't know. Someone you couldn't rely on.

Someone who wasn't Santana– telling you that everything would be okay.

"S- Sa... San-Santana... Santana... W-where's Santana?" You try to force out painfully, your throat scratchy and damaged and hurt. You aren't sure any noise has actually escaped. Anything beyond a breath. "Santana..."

And then warmth engulfs your hand. Lips touch your ear. "I'm right here. I'm right here, baby. I love you. I'm here with you. It'll be alright. You'll be okay."

You relax at the sound of Santana's voice. You calm considerably at the silky-smooth comforting words pouring from the lips still pressed against your ear.

It would be alright.

Santana is right here, and Santana loves you.

It would be okay.

You cling onto these words like a life raft as the suffocating pain reclaims your body. You feel yourself slipping, losing control. You feel your body succumb to the endless pain, writhing and jolting and seizing, your muscles begging for release. And not the good kind.

"Quinn... I- what's happening?" Santana's voice says, further away now.

The noise start to dull, fading to a tinny sound, before encompassing your ears underwater. Any sound lost and far away. The pain creeps over your skin, crawling through your blood and taking over your remaining conscious thought. The faded, almost absent voices sound panicked, frightened, echoing your own emotion.

The white-hot light grows brighter, even though you know your eyes are closed. It pours over your sight like a creamy liquid. The pain begins to dull, to fade, to disappear. You feel yourself grow light, your body practically floating, as everything slips away to nothing. Nothing remains but the bright white light, filling your every being, removing you from the world, from the loud noise, from Santana.

You feel yourself sink into a painless, freeing sleep. Where nothing hurts. Where everything is forgotten. No problems, no life, no fear.

No pain.

Well, no.

There is pain.

There is no Santana.

And what is left, is pain in her absence.

So only the worst kind of pain.

* * *

You feel her name tear from your throat before you can even register what is happening.

"_QUINN!"_

You watch as her body is slammed into by that fucking car, helpless as her body bends in all the wrong ways, slamming to the ground, harshly. It all happens so fast. Too fast for you to process, to understand.

Even as you sprint across the street, towards your unconscious wife, you feel numb, light-headed, as if you were having an out-of-body experience. You immediately drop to your knees on the concrete, lifting her head, feeling it loll, heavily. You carefully bring your fingers to her neck, checking her pulse, smiling slightly in relief when you feel it. Slow, but there.

You hear a door slam and the man driving the car jumps out, wearing a business suit and slicked back hair and you know right away that you want to kill this ignorant bastard.

"Is she okay?" he asks, terrified, concern written all over his face.

"No, she's not okay, you asshole!" you scream, knowing you're terrified yourself. Because really, what are you supposed to do?

"How can I help?" he asks, his voice panicked.

"Call an ambulance!" you yell at him. He hesitates and you hear yourself growl out, "_NOW_!"

You watch as the man scrambles back to his car, before looking down at Quinn, cradling her head in your lap. You don't leave her once, even as commotion fills around you. People walking by, asking what happened, asking if they can help, pulling out their cell phones, just plain watching pitifully as you brush back Quinn's blood matted hair. There's blood pouring out of the back of her head, even as you try to stem the bleeding with your hand, her leg twisted the wrong way, her arm turning purple–all on her left side.

You stick with her, tears streaming down your face, staying silent as the paramedics come, and take her from you, lifting your life onto that gurney and wheeling her to the ambulance. A hand is held out to you and you take it, still staring at Quinn. You follow the paramedic into the ambulance and crawl inside, sitting next to Quinn's head as they hook her up to multiple machines that you don't pay attention to.

You sit and stare at this incredibly gorgeous woman, ignoring the sirens and the voices and the chaos going on all around you, and you just focus on Quinn, your beautiful, incredible wife, laying, lifeless on the gurney.

It's not until you hear a loud, fast-paced beeping, continuously gaining speed, that you finally start paying attention to those big machines. You hear a man shout that they're losing her and that's when you _really_ start to pay attention.

They pull out two shock panels for a defibrillator and you know exactly what they're going to do. That same man demands 50 cc's and you brace yourself, gripping the edge of the gurney with both hands as they lower the panels to Quinn's body.

You watch with watery eyes and clenched teeth as Quinn's body jerks forcefully, arching from the bed as she screams in pain. You clench your eyes shut as they pull the panels away and her body and her heart rate slow down.

You keep them shut, the weight of how much everything had changed in the matter of a second, finally crushing down on you. You try to push it aside, because you liked the numb shock you felt before.

"S- Sa... San-Santana... Santana... W-where's Santana?"

Your eyes fly open at the sound of that scratchy voice, broken and terrified, begging for a sense of familiarity, begging for _you_.

"Santana..." You watch Quinn's lips move slowly, forcing your name from between them. Her eyes are open, but they're glassy and unfocused, and you try not to delve into what that means.

Instead, you grip her hand, lacing your fingers and lean in, pressing your lips to the ear that isn't covered in blood.

"I'm right here. I'm right here, baby. I love you. I'm here with you. It'll be alright. You'll be okay," you promise, praying for all that it's worth that you're right. You continue to whisper words of comfort and watch as Quinn's body relaxes.

It only lasts for a minute, though, and soon her body starts to shake and jerk and rip from her own control and you start to panic. Quinn cries out in pain and you pull back and look at the paramedic next to you, before looking back to the blonde.

"Quinn..." you say, watching sympathetically as sobs and screams pour from those lips that so often pour softness and occasionally, pleasure. You turn back to the paramedic. "I- what's happening?" you ask.

He shoots you a sympathetic look, but ignores you, commanding the man on the other side of the gurney to shoot her with an anesthetic. You barely contain your fury at him, because this is your _wife_, and you watch as the other paramedic does as he's told.

Quinn's body relaxes and her eyes shut, and you know they knocked her out. The heart monitor is beeping steadily and you let out a breath, clinging to that steady beat, feeling your own heart beat to the same rhythm.

Before you know it, the ambulance arrives at the hospital and everything is rushed and immediate. The gurney hits the pavement and doctors are on her in an instant. You crawl out of the ambulance and sprint after Quinn's gurney, being whisked into the hospital.

You follow the group of doctors down the hallway, and keep an eye on Quinn. One of the doctors shouts something about getting you away from them and you slow slightly, narrowing your eyes because _damn_, that was rude. You shake your head and prepare to cut this bitch down, but you feel a strong hand grip your shoulder, and you start to panic, swearing at the male nurse who stopped you. Soon enough you have three people holding you back as Quinn's body is carried away, into the surgical section of the hospital. You fight and cry out and try to break free of their grasp because all you want is Quinn. All you want is to be there with her, to make sure she's okay.

You finally give up, and fall to your knees, wishing this wasn't happening. That your wife wasn't about to be operated on, that she hadn't been hit by a car.

That she wasn't alone.

That you weren't alone right now.

You ignore the doctor kneeled next to you, trying to comfort you, to coax you into standing and relaxing, and you ignore the people standing around, staring at you. You just let your body heave with sobs and beg for Quinn to be alright. For Quinn to come back to you.

"Please come back to me..." you whisper.


End file.
